Thursday, November 20, 2008

How is it that some people can read a book, toss it aside and say, "Oh, I guessed who the bad guy was right away," when I can't figure it out until, like, a page before the heroine does?

Maybe they are good guessers. Or maybe they are just lying their heads off--a reviewer once said she had the mystery in MY book figured out right from the start. But my book was a romance. There wasn't a mystery there in the first place.

Anyway, I just finished Angels Fall by Nora Roberts, and enjoyed it thoroughly. I didn't know who the bad guy was until the very end, and I thought the whole story was very suspenseful and well done. Also, I liked the way the relationship between the hero and heroine developed. There weren't any Big Misunderstandings to keep them apart, just their own fears and attitudes. And the heroine was so traumatized that you could really understand why she did what she did, and why she wouldn't shrug off some of the weird stuff that was going on like a typical non-traumatized person would.

Then, as I usually do, I read a bunch of the Amazon.com reviews to see what other people thought of it. I don't know why. Maybe I want validation for my opinion. Maybe, after I read a book and like it, I am just spoiling for a fight and want to snort indignantly about these pea-brained morons whose opinions differ from mine.

All About Romance liked the book. RT liked it. A few bad spellers on Amazon.com didn't like it. Dear Author liked it, but had a problem with colloquialisms in the dialogue--to which I say, "Hey, lighten up. It's dialogue, okay, and people talk like that."

Not that you could convince some of the guys I have been working with lately. The biggest proponent of 25-cent words in that group has been over-sensitive since some parents in his community complained about a grammatical error he made in a letter to the editor of the local paper last year. But that's what you get for having a community full of college professors--relentless snarkism over grammar and other minutia.

Friday, November 7, 2008

I'm furious at a new person today, a condescending idiot who has assumed that I know nothing about my job. I need to work with him, and (although it pains me to admit it) I did do something wrong, so I had to listen politely to his insufferable smug superiority.

And of course since it's Friday afternoon, there wasn't anyone around so I couldn't get the permission I so badly needed to straighten out the mess. It's like fighting with goo. Sticky, gloppy, frustrating goo, that gets all over you and never lets you go.

The person I was angry at before was just plain insulting to me, and I had to get over that guy, too. And I didn't do anything wrong there.

I don't know exactly what I'm supposed to do about that. I feel like it's all my fault for being a doormat and not standing up for myself. But am I a doormat?

I don't know. Oh, well, I suppose someday it will be good fodder for a book. I hope someday comes soon.